


Secrets

by Spoonzi



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cannon Divergence, BAMF Jaskier, Bathing & Washing, Blood, Confessions, F/F, Fighting, Garelt thinks he’s too small, I Fuck With Jaskier’s Backstory So Much, Jaskier Likes Being Small, M/M, Mentioned Cockwarming, Past Betrothal, Plot relevant OC, Size Kink, Slow Burn, inappropriate boners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:28:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23923864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoonzi/pseuds/Spoonzi
Summary: 3 of Jaskier’s Secrets + 1 of Geralt’s Secrets
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Mentioned Jaskier/Other, OFC/OFC
Comments: 10
Kudos: 284
Collections: Geraskier Discord Monthly Event





	Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys like this!
> 
> I meant to do a sex scene but every time I wrote it I ended up hating it :(

**I**

“Are you getting enough to eat?” It’s the longest non-monster related sentence Jaskier had heard his companion say in a week and it had unthinkingly made him pull his lute away from his stomach and look down at himself. He had been getting more to eat with Geralt than he had without if he was being brazenly honest with himself so maybe it was the tight-waisted jerkin he’d been wearing today. It was as close to a corset as he could wear both traveling and around the Witcher but if it made the man ask questions then Julian should stick to his normal doublets. 

“Are you worried about me, Geralt?” He questions smirking teasingly in a way he hopes will stop the inquiry. 

The Witcher glares at him over the four slow roasting squirrels. “Do I need to get more food?”

“No, honestly I’m getting fed plenty.” The bard waves him off looking back down to his lute in hopes of ending the conversation as he strums out one of his favorite tunes. He can’t necessarily explain to someone like Geralt that he  _ likes _ being small, men like the Witcher aren’t very good at understanding such things. Luckily, the other man just grumbles something under his breath and reaches out to turn the spit. 

»»»

During the next week on the road headed towards the next town, Jaskier tried not to notice his companion collecting them more food than necessary. The rabbits and fish really weren’t new, they’d had them both a few times before after all, but the fattened raccoons, the large fox, and the doe were strange. He tries to ignore it by telling himself that more people search for squirrels and rats on the road. The jerky and the berries Geralt had begun to offer him between monsters and campsites were appreciated, of course, but the bard knew exactly why the hunter was doing such things and he didn’t like it at all. 

He doesn’t comment on it. It’s honestly a bit refreshing to have someone, especially someone like Geralt, caring for him. It’s also a bit irritating to say in the least. He has to exercise now when the Witcher is not around to keep the extra food from softening his middle. He likes how he looks and he doesn’t need the hunter stuffing him like a hog for slaughter because he suddenly starts caring for others. 

Okay so Jaskier is a little bit bitter about the whole thing. He can admit that. 

»»»

It finally comes to ahead when they bustle into the next town Jaskier singing and dancing all the way. He’s thrilled, happier than he’s been since his friend had started trying to fatten him up. The people are attractive and jubilant and they love his music, even the songs that aren’t about his— the Witcher. The barman hadn’t batted an eye when he danced and sang on tabletops jumping from one to the next with a larger smile than he had in weeks. The maidens were receptive to his subtle flirting and some of the more open minded gentlemen as well. 

He’d been absolutely invigorated as he slipped into the booth in the corner of the bar across from Geralt. After heartily digging into his plate with renewed vigor from his performance, he looks up to wave down the barman for a pint of mead. While he waits, he looks back to his plate only to find another helping of potatoes next to his last few bites of seasoned meat. His jaw goes tight and he glares at the plate pushing it towards Geralt with a burning glare. 

His mead lands next to him along with a large metal key. “Room free of charge because of all the folks you brought in with your singing.” The barman says clapping him on the shoulder before making his way back to the counter. 

Jaskier finishes his mead quickly before making sure their dishes are neatly stacked for the barmaid— he doesn’t like to be unkind to servers. Standing, he lifts his lute and pack pulling the straps over his shoulder and grabbing his key. “Follow me.” He hisses to the Witcher his tone leaving no room for argument. 

Once they are behind the locked door and four walls of their room he sets his things down and rounds on the Witcher hissing out his next sentence. “ _ You _ need to  _ stop _ . I won’t have you stuffing me like a Yuletide pheasant any longer.”

Geralt’s grunts. “You’re too small.”

“I am not  _ too small _ , you overgrown cat.” Jaskier growls before shaking his head. “My sizing is perfectly adequate, thank you very much.”

“I can lift you with one arm.” The white haired man argues in the least argumentative tone of voice the bard has ever heard. 

“You can also lift  _ two _ cockatrice with one arm so I surely hope you aren’t telling me I weigh as much as one of those beastly things.” The brunet’s lip curls at the thought. 

Geralt has the audacity to look disgruntled, or at least something similar to it. His brow pulls down and his pupils fluctuate from thin to round. Frankly, he looks a little constipated. He grunts in the tone that the musician recognizes as his ‘wants to say something but doesn’t know what’ tone and the slighter man sighs. 

Unbuttoning his thick doublet and yanking off his linen undershirt, the blue-eyed man decides silently that he needs to get to Konstuntine before the first snow to trade out his clothes lest he freeze. Setting both items of clothing over the back of the chair holding his pack and lute, he looks back to the hunter to find him wide eyed and confused. “Come here, you oaf.”

Geralt takes a hesitant step forward causing the smaller man to sigh again and go to him instead. Grasping the Witcher’s thick wrist, he brings it up wrapping the large hand around his own bicep and he tries not to shiver when he can feel that his companions fingers slightly overlap. “Squeeze. Do you feel the muscle?” Geralt grunts and affirmative and the other man continues. “Nowhere near as impressive as your own, but present. Starvers don’t have muscle mass.”

Jaskier grabs Geralt’s other arm and brings both of them to his waist. His fingers are only a coins-width or two apart, barely two inches, but they don’t meet and the bard pushes away the heat creeping up the back of his neck. “Your fingers don’t touch and you can only see my ribs if I suck in. I could count a starver’s rib bones.”

“Still too small.” The Witcher argues calmly when his arms are released. He takes a step back and Jaskier frowns at him. 

He grabs hold of the hunter again and drags him to the room’s murky mirror. “I like how I look.” He claims meeting his own eyes in the mirror. Geralt looks to himself in the mirror instead of the bard and finds the difference between them almost startling as he stands behind the svelt man. “I like being smaller than my occasional male lover. I like the difference.” He turns to Geralt. “I’ve never been underfed a day in my life, and I’d appreciate you not over-feeding me.”

Jaskier skirts around his companion and slips his shirt and doublet back on leaving the later unbuttoned. Selecting a small handful of coins from his coin-purse, the bard moves to leave. “I’m going to order us a bath, try not to find a feast for me while I’m gone.”

Geralt tries not to remember the time only months ago he’d found out that the bard also enjoyed male  _ company _ . He fails. The sight of Jaskier’s blissed-out face as he held the blacksmith’s cock between his lips floats through his mind's eye. He still can’t quite understand why the bard looked so happy to kneel between the man’s feet and just let his length sit on his tongue while the blacksmith sharpened knives. The Witcher is, thankfully, pulled from his musing as Jaskier steps back into the room followed by the barman and two barmaids each carrying a few buckets of steaming water. 

  
  


**II**

Jaskier hums as he begins to set their shelter up. They are setting up camp a little earlier in the day than usual but Geralt didn’t want to sleep too close to the monster’s range when he needed to get the job from the next town over first in order to get paid. The Witcher drops his gathered wood between the stump and the large rock, that would make wonderful seating for them later, and kneels to form them into a pile so that they’ll be easy to grab later. 

A prickling sensation followed by a numbing one stems from the back of his neck and Geralt reaches back plucking what looks like a dart from his skin. He glares at it as his vision blurs. “Fuck.” Jaskier yells his name but he collapses and his tongue is too heavy for an answer. 

»»»

Geralt wakes up to muffled talking and his eyes pop open immediately to train on Jaskier across the now lit fire. The bard looks vaguely miffed as he tries to babble around the thick strip of cloth between his lips. The Witcher tries to move but his body isn’t responding and his brain is foggy at best. He doesn’t even realize there are three men in their camp until his hearing focuses enough to hear their conversation. 

“How come th’ bard woke up s’ fast, boss?” One man asks and if Geralt squints he can tell the one speaking is vaguely weasel looking. 

“Could be from Lettenhove. Hear they use Moondew in everythin’ there. Maybe he got a tolerance ‘r summit. What’cha think, boss?” Another man responds to the first. He’s a bit taller than the other two but he’s rail thin, thinner than Jaskier at least. 

“I think you should both shut up.” The man, boss evidently, grumbles before pushing through the other two and stomping over to Jaskier. Geralt would threaten the man if he could just figure out how his mouth works. The crook snatches the gag out of Jaskier’s mouth and growls. “Whadda ya want, ya twit?”

“Ah, well, you see, good sir. The thing is, I’m not very skilled with the fight like my friend over there is. So I was just wondering if you could untie me-” The man starts to raise the gag again and the bard pulls back. “Wait! Wait! Wait! If you untie me I’ll service you! Bring you off with my mouth and hands, I’m really good at it.”

Geralt feels nauseous. He holds his breath so he doesn’t have to scent his companion’s fear. When he inevitably has to breathe he finds with much surprise he doesn’t smell any fear at all. His eyes shoot back to the musician to see that his bindings are being cut through with the leader’s dagger. Once his hands are free, the bandit slides his dagger into his belt and leans back against the tree next to the stump Jaskier had been leaned against. 

“Com’un then, bard. Service me.” The man says waving to his crotch and Geralt yanks against his ropes with all he can only to find that with the combined power of the ties and the drug his arms are heavy and noncompliant. Jaskier kneels up in front of the leader and the hunter tries to shout the bard’s name only for it to come out warbled and muffled between the weight of his tongue and the gag. 

Cornflower eyes stay decidedly away from the Witcher and nimble fingers come up to unbutton the flies of their attacker’s trousers. The man closes his eyes and leans his head back against the tree trunk. Geralt watches, dread pooling in his stomach as his— the bard plucks the last button from its hole. The musician looks up at the man he kneels in front of and takes a deep breath making the hunter tense even farther and struggle at his bindings harder. 

Fast as an arrow, Jaskier gets the leader’s dagger in his hand and plunges it into the man’s stomach pushing the blade up through the crook's abdomen as he forces himself to his feet. Geralt goes stock still in shock eyes wide as anything as he watches the smaller man yank the now bloodied blade from the gargling man as he chokes on his own blood pitching over now that the bard’s weight is no longer keeping him upwards. In the back of his mind the hunter hears the other two men causing a fuss but his eyes are trained on Jaskier. 

The slighter man is covered from hand to elbow in blood, droplets splattered on his face, and red seeping into the crisp blue of his doublet. His normally sparkling blue eyes are hard and his hair is a mess of tangles. The taller of the last two men comes barreling at Jaskier, a sword raised over his head with both hands and the singer ducks around him jamming his shoulder into the bandit’s side causing him to stumble. 

The shorter man straightens. His stance is even and his free arm is pressed against the small of his back. The stance and the hold on the dagger are familiar. A noble's fighting stance if Geralt can rely on his muddled brain for information at the moment. 

The dagger clashes with the beanpole’s sword and with a tumbling flick of Jaskier’s wrist and a swipe of his leg the assailant is thrown off balance giving the musician the chance to thrust his blade into the taller man’s throat. Jaskier uses his foot to shove the man off the end of his dagger only to stumble as a crudely made throwing knife embeds itself in his shoulder. The bard groans loudly speaking what sounds close to the word ‘bullocks’ under his breath as he does a messy roll out of the way of another knife narrowly missing the fire. Geralt can’t help but note that the roll is nowhere near as adept as his own and that it probably made the knife shift painfully. 

Jaskier fumbles to his feet near Geralt and jams the handle of the dagger between his teeth, briefly pulling a face at the taste of blood. His jaw goes tight, teeth biting down on the handle with a low grunt as he rips the knife out of his shoulder narrowly avoiding another as it clips his cheekbone just under his eye. He throws the knife back at its original handler and it catches the man by the neck of his tunic against one of the trees. 

“Fuck. Aim’s off.” Geralt hears the bard mumble under his breath as he sweeps past with an uneven gait. The attacker tries desperately to yank the knife out to no avail and the hunter thinks belatedly with how deep it is in the tree, Jaskier could have put it through the man’s head. The dagger swings upwards under the crook’s jaw and all the way through the roof of his mouth into his brain. 

When the blade is torn back out, the hog of a man slides down the tree, limp, only his arm being held up by the knife caught in his tunic. The bard stumbles over to his friend and slides down on the ground next to him leaning over to pull the blade through his bindings with an easy flick of his wrist that shouldn’t have looked like the dagger was cutting through butter considering how many layers of rope their assailants had knotted around his arms. The blood covered blade is then thrown haphazardly onto the ground in front of them and Geralt looks over at his friend. 

Jaskier is breathing heavily, his whole body sagged back against the large stone next to the Witcher. He’s bleeding consistently from his cheek and his shoulder and he flinches when he tries to lay one of his legs out straight. All of these things are normal considering what the blond had seen; the hardness in the smaller man’s pants, however, isn’t. Geralt opens his mouth, closes it, and then opens it again. “Jaskier….”

The bard huffs a laugh and it sounds a little manic. “I hate fighting, hate it. Makes me… makes me not myself.” His eyes come down from the sky and they look black in the light of the fire as they train on his hardness. “It’s disgusting.” He says and Geralt hears what he really means. 

He wants to tell the singer that he could never be disgusting but he doesn’t know how and Jaskier is leaning his head back against the stone again. Cornflower blue eyes slip closed and the bard hums something the hunter doesn’t recognize before speaking again. “I’ll leave the fighting to you in the future, I think. Do me a favor and when you get your arms and legs to work, give me the medkit.”

They don’t talk about it. 

**III**

Geralt ends up traveling with him to Konstuntine. Whether it’s because the Witcher was actually headed that way or because he wants to stick with him after the bandit fiasco, Jaskier doesn’t know. Either way he’s grateful for the company and he stops the other man a few leagues outside of town. He works his mother’s ring off of his finger the emeralds and silver knots shining in the light as he twists it. 

“Keep this safe for me.” Leaning up on his toes, he grabs Geralt’s hand from around roaches reigns and slides the ring onto the Witcher’s pinky. “It’s important to me and people try to steal it every time I come around.”

Geralt grunts his eyes straying to the jewelry every few moments as Jaskier leads him through town to a small Tavern and Inn called  _ Lady’s Bridge.  _ He dismounts and tethers Roach loosely both he and the bard offering her a few pats and said bard ‘sneakily’ feeding her sugar cubes when he thinks Geralt isn’t looking. Once the Witcher unstraps his pack from the saddle, he follows the smaller man inside glancing around confusedly when Jaskier walks right up to the counter stopping in front of a woman with chestnut ringlets, startling green eyes, and a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. 

Jaskier turns his nose up and in an overly snobby voice says. “River, I see you still own this rotting hole.”

The woman’s lips quirk up slightly and she turns her nose up as well responding with her own snobbish voice. “Julian, I see you’re still wasting your life away with that dreaded lute.”

The bard chuckles and leans across the bar to plant a kiss on her cheek before speaking in his normal voice. “It’s good to see you, Seine, how’s business?”

The woman smiles and her teeth are startlingly white. “Fine as it ever is. Glad you’re alive, Jaskier, I’m guessing you’re here to pick up some of your winter clothes?”

“And spend the night if you don’t mind. Double bed room, if you will.” Jaskier requests waving to Geralt who seems to have that confused/constipated look on his face again. 

Seine looks over at the Witcher staring him up and down, raises her brows, nods him to a stool, and looks back to Jaskier. “A double if you sing my song when you perform.”

The musician looks around the tavern and he must decide that it’s a good enough start to a crowd because he sets his pack on the stool next to Geralt and swings his lute around to his front before walking off. Geralt recognizes the first few chords of Lady in Gold but he doubts it's this woman’s song considering she’s dressed in a faded purple tunic and tight trousers. 

Seine leans over the counter and deposits a pint of ale in front of him, her thin eyebrows climbing higher on her forehead when he grabs the handle. He tries not to slide his hand back under the bar when he realizes she’s looking at Jaskier’s ring. This woman, a woman smaller than even Jaskier, makes him nervous. She crosses her arms on the counter and tilts her head up at him waiting for him to take a drink before she speaks. “I’m surprised he hasn’t fucked you yet.”

Geralt chokes on his ale and coughs into his fist. When he finally has a handle on himself, much to her amusement, he croaks out a quiet ‘what?!’. She rolls her eyes at him. “You are the physical embodiment of his type. The brooding thing, the fact that you can most likely pick him up and throw him across the room one handed, the swords.” 

She waves her hand over his whole body. “You’re even wearing leather pants. Not to mention his mother’s ring. I don’t get it, why hasn’t he jumped your bones? Guessing you don’t like men.”

Jaskier starts in on The Fishmonger’s Daughter somewhere behind him. Seine snorts her eyes straying to the bard for a moment before coming back to the Witcher. “You didn’t answer me, is it that you aren’t into him?” Very slowly, he shakes his head stiffly. She squints, tilts her head, and sighs. “Fuck, he’s in love with you.”

And Geralt is choking on his ale again. He makes the executive decision to push his cup away once he gets a hold of himself and he grunts with wide eyes under his breath. “What?!”

Seine takes a drink from his cup and rolls her eyes. “I’ve known Jaskier since we were about ten. We were betrothed.” She taps the rim of the pint with her fingertip. “I know him better than anyone…. Jaskier, he loves easy and he loves everybody he’s with but I’ve only seen him  _ in love _ once and that was- is with me.”

The Witcher can’t stop himself from asking. “What happened?”

The green-eyed woman smiles. “When we were 15 we learned we were going to be married within a year. I told him he was my best friend and I loved him, but I couldn’t marry him.”

“Why not?” He finds himself asking, rolling his eyes on instinct when he hears Jaskier start the beginnings of Ballad of the Drowners. 

Seine takes another sip of his ale and pushes it towards him causing him to eye her warily before taking a drink. She waits until he swallows and places the drink down before speaking. “I like women. I told him and he told me he’d help me run away so we wouldn’t have to get married… so that I could find someone I wanted to be with.”

She grabs a pitcher and pushes a brunette ringlet out of her face before refilling their now shared mug. “We made a plan. Stole everything we could carry and a horse and came here. I bought this place and he went to Oxenfurt. Now he visits Amita and I before the first snow and after the last snow to switch out his clothes for the weather. Sometimes he visits other than that but we can always look to see him then.”

“Amita?” Geralt questions putting in an effort to make it sound like a question because of all the lectures the bard had been giving him. 

“My wife.” Seine gestures to a beautiful chocolate skinned woman with waist-long braids and bicolored eyes who is setting down plates of dinner in front of some excited looking patrons. 

“Why do you think he’s in love with me?” The Witcher questions and he realizes that maybe this is the longest conversation he has actually participated in in a while. Jaskier can mostly figure out what he means by his face and the tone of his grunts so he doesn’t have to participate much in the bard’s babbling. 

“The way he looks at you.” The freckled woman says as if that will answer everything before she adds on. “It’s the same way he looks at me.”

They stay silent after that, passing the pint back and forth until it’s empty and Amita is smiling at him with her hand on the small of Seine’s back as she refills the cup. Jaskier picks out the beginnings of a song the hunter has never heard him play before and Seine smiles. “This is my song.”

They both turn to watch Jaskier who is balanced atop a small table probably meant for one person. He looks to the chestnut haired woman and winks with a wide smile on his face before starting to sing. “ _ She's resplendent, so confident. La Seine, La Seine, La Seine. I realize, I'm hypnotized. La Seine, La Seine, La Seine. _ ”

His voice is low and even and he sways with the music. It seems a few of the patrons recognize either the song or who the song is about and everyone seems to go silent even the few people who had been singing along to the other songs. “ _ I hear the moon singing a tune. La Seine, La Seine, La Seine. Is she divine, Is it the wine? La Seine, La Seine, La Seine. _ ”

Jaskier hops off the table and begins making his way around the tavern. Weaving between the tables and people, swaying to his own music, and making graceful spins when he had the room. “ _ I don't know, don't know, so don't ask me why. That's how we are, La Seine and I. I don't know, don't know, so don't ask me why. That's how we are, La Seine and I. _ ”

His smile is serene and giddy. His cornflower blue eyes are shining with mirth. In the light of the lanterns and the fire, his golden colored doublet seems to glow. Perhaps a little late to the realization, Geralt thinks Jaskier is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “ _ I feel alive when I'm beside. La Seine, La Seine, La Seine. From this angle like an angel. La Seine, La Seine, La Seine. _ ”

“Can you change that room to one bed?” The Witcher ducks his head looking back at the woman in the song. The feral grin she gives him at the request is anything but angelic. 

**+I**

Geralt is lounging in a still steaming bath when Jaskier enters their room and eyes the single large bed. The bard huffs and unamused laugh. “That snake.”

“I asked for one bed.” The hunter comments before the bard can leave not opening his eyes or leaning his head up. He hears the lute being leaned against the wall carefully and steps approach him. 

“Why?” The musician asks and the tone of his voice is a little hard to read so the Witcher lets his eyes open a bit to look at the smaller man. Jaskier is kneeling next to the tub, his arms crossed over the side and his chin resting on them. For a moment the white haired man can hear him saying  _ ‘And yet here we are.’  _ even though that instance had happened what seems like years ago now. 

“Get in the bath, Jaskier.” Geralt says and he sees the slighter man’s eyes go dark at the request. 

The bard takes a deep breath in and closes his eyes before opening them again. The striking blue of them goes right through the Witcher and Jaskier very slightly shakes his head. “I can’t. I can’t be with you just once, Geralt. I care for you too much.”

The singer goes to stand and a large, wet hand catches his wrist. “I’m not asking for once, I’m asking for as long as you’ll let me.”

Jaskier takes a deep breath and he dares to  _ hope _ . His sapphire eyes turn back to the Witcher and his breath catches. Geralt’s face is more expressive than he’s ever seen it before, eyes wide and normally slitted pupils oval shaped in hope. Swallowing his fear, he speaks. “What if I want forever?”

“Then you can have forever and longer.” Geralt promises and it makes the bard’s knees weak. He carefully extracts his arm from the Witcher’s hold and a heart broken look flickers across the larger man’s features making Jaskier feel like his heart is being twisted. 

The bard moves to the bed where his pack is sitting and sheds his doublet and shirt the sinking feeling leaving him as he hears his Witcher sigh in relief and settle in the water. He digs through the pack to find the pouch holding his soaps and oils and pulls the two vials holding the chamomile soaps and oils— it’s one of the only scents that don’t make Geralt sneeze. Kicking off his boots and shucking his pants onto the bed with his other clothes, he makes his way back over to the tub. 

The hunter holds his arm out and Jaskier steps into the tub ignoring the way his skin stings at the hot water so that he can settle between the larger man’s legs. He sets the vials down on the table next to the tub that holds towels, bath salts, and the water pitcher letting Geralt pull him backwards to rest against the man’s much broader chest. He lets himself relish in their size difference for a moment as one of the hunter’s forearms curls over his abdomen. 

A large hand comes up and blunt fingernails scratch through the hair on his chest causing him to shiver. Tilting his head back on Geralt’s shoulder, he hums. “Why now?”

“Your friend. She made me realize what I felt for you could actually be returned.” The white haired man says and Jaskier feels Geralt’s chest vibrate against his back as he speaks. His own chest fills with warmth. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Visual Aide for the ring](https://www.etsy.com/listing/463164315/infinity-emerald-wedding-band-sterling?zanpid=10690_1580453582_12a59ac8532bc187601203a8ef73d228&utm_medium=affiliate&utm_source=affiliate_window&utm_campaign=row_buyer&utm_content=349271&utm_term=82331&awc=10690_1580453582_12a59ac8532bc187601203a8ef73d228)
> 
> [La Siene Song](https://youtu.be/FA4U13ACXxU)
> 
> [Geraskier Discord](https://discord.gg/ub8rq6N)


End file.
